CHAPTER IV
PLANNING A NEW CELEBRATION
The cream, as it were, of the population of the mining-camp were readyto receive the group from up on the hill. There were nearly twenty menin the delegation, representing every shade of inelegance. Indeed,they demonstrated beyond all argument that the ways of looking roughand unkempt are infinite. There were tall and short who were rough,bearded and shaved who were rougher, and washed and unwashed who wereroughest. And there were still many denizens of Borealis not then onexhibition.
Webber, the blacksmith; Lufkins, the teamster; Bone, the "barkeep";Dunn, the carpenter, and Field, who had first discovered precious oreat Borealis, and sold out his claims for a gold watch and chain--whichsubsequently proved to be brass--all these and many another shininglight of the camp could be counted in the modest assemblage gatheredtogether to have a look at the "kid" just reported by Keno.
Surprise had been laid on double, in the town, by the news of what hadoccurred. In the first place, it was almost incredible that old"If-only" Jim had actually made his long-threatened pilgrimage to fetchhis promised pup, but to have him back here, not only with the dog inquestion, but also with a tiny youngster found at the edge of thewilderness, was far too much to comprehend.
In a single bound, old Jim had been elevated to a starry firmament ofimportance, from wellnigh the lowest position of insignificance in thecamp, attained by his general worthlessness and shiftlessness--of mindand demeanor--which qualities had passed into a proverb of the place.Procrastination, like a cuckoo, had made its nest in his pockets, wherethe hands of Jim would hatch its progeny. Labor and he abhorred eachother mightily. He had never been known to strike a lick of work tilllarder and stomach were both of them empty and credit had taken to thehills. He drawled in his speech till the opening parts of the goodresolutions he frequently uttered were old and forgotten before theremainders were spoken. He loitered in his walk, said the boys, tillhe clean forgot whether he was going up hill or down. "Hurry," he hadalways said, by way of a motto, "is an awful waste of time that afeller could go easy in."
Yet in his shambling, easy-going way, old Jim had drifted into nearlyevery heart in the camp. His townsmen knew he had once had a goodeducation, for outcroppings thereof jutted from his personality even ashis cheek-bones jutted out of his russet old countenance.
Not by any means consenting to permit old Jim to understand howastonishment was oozing from their every pore, the men brought forth byKeno's news could not, however, entirely mask their incredulity andinterest. As Jim came deliberately down the trail, with the palelittle foundling on his arm, he was greeted with every possible term offamiliarity, to all of which he drawled a response in kind.
Not a few in the group of citizens pulled off their hats at the nearerapproach of the child, then somewhat sheepishly put them on again.With stoical resolutions almost immediately upset, they gatheredclosely in about the miner and his tiny companion, crowding thered-headed Keno away from his place of honor next to the child.
The quaint little pilgrim, in his old, fur cap and long, "man's"trousers, looked at the men in a grave way of doubt and questioning.
"It's a sure enough kid, all the same," said one of the men, as if hehad previously entertained some doubts of the matter. "And ain't hewhite!"
"Of course a white kid's white," answered the barkeep, scornfully.
"Awful cute little shaver," said another. "By cracky, Jim, you musthave had him up yer sleeve for a week! He don't look more'n about oneweek old."
"Aw, listen to the man afraid to know anything about anything!" brokein the blacksmith. "One week! He's four or five months, or I'm awoodchuck."
"You kin tell by his teeth," suggested a leathery individual, strokinghis bony jaw knowingly. "I used to be up on the game myself, but I'm alittle out of practice jest at present."
"Shut up, you scare him, Shaky," admonished the teamster. "He's apretty little chipmunk. Jim, wherever did you git him?"
Jim explained every detail of his trip to fetch the pup, stretching outhis story of finding the child and bringing him hither, with pride inevery item of his wonderful performance. His audience listened withprofound attention, broken only by an occasional exclamation.
"Old If-only Jim! Old son-of-a-sea-cook!" repeated one, time aftertime.
Meanwhile the silent little man himself was clinging to the miner'sflannel collar with all his baby strength. With shy little glances hescanned the members of the group, and held the tighter to the one safeanchorage in which he seemed to feel a confidence. A number of therough men furtively attempted a bit of coquetry, to win the favor of asmile.
"You don't mean, Jim, you found him jest a-settin' right in the bresh,with them dead jack-rabbits lyin' all 'round?" insisted the carpenter.
"That's what," said Jim, and reluctantly he brought the tale to itsfinal conclusion, adding his theory of the loss of the child by theIndians on their hunt, and bearing down hard on the one little speechthat the tiny foundling had made just this morning.
The rough men were silenced by this. One by one they took off theirhats again, smoothed their hair, and otherwise made themselves a trifleprettier to look upon.
"Well, what you goin' to do with him, Jim?" inquired Field, after amoment.
"Oh, I'll grow him up," said Jim. "And some day I'll send him tocollege."
"College be hanged!" said Field. "A lot of us best men in Borealisnever went to college--and we're proud of it!"
"So the little feller said nobody wanted him, did he?" asked theblacksmith. "Well, I wouldn't mind his stayin' 'round the shop. Wheredo you s'pose he come from first? And painted like a little PiuteInjun! No wonder he's a scared little tike."
"I ain't the one which scares him," announced a man whose hair, beard,and eyes all stuck out amazingly. "If I'd 'a' found him first he'dlike me same as he takes to Jim."
"Speakin' of catfish, where the little feller come from original iswhat gits to me," said Field, the father of Borealis, reflectively."You see, if he's four or five months old, why he's sure undergrowed.You could drink him up in a cupful of coffee and never even cough. Andbein' undergrowed, why, how could he go on a rabbit-drive along withthe Injuns? I'll bet you there's somethin' mysterious about hisorigin."
"Huh! Don't you jump onto no little shaver's origin when you 'ain'tgot any too much to speak of yourself," the blacksmith commanded."He's as big as any little skeezucks of his size!"
"Kin he read an' write?" asked a person of thirty-six, who had "pickedup" the mentioned accomplishments at the age of thirty-five.
"He's alive and smart as mustard!" put in Keno, a champion by right ofprior acquaintance with the timid little man.
"Wal, that's all right, but mustard don't do no sums in 'rithmetic,"said the bar-keep. "I'm kind of stuck, myself, on this here pup."
Tintoretto had been busily engaged making friends in any direction mosthandily presented. He wound sinuously out of the barkeep's reach,however, with pup-wise discrimination. The attention of the companywas momentarily directed to the small dog, who came in for not a few ofthe camp's outspoken compliments.
"He's mebbe all right, but he's homely as Aunt Marier comin' throughthe thrashin'-machine," decided the teamster.
The carpenter added: "He's so all-fired awkward he can't keep step withhisself."
"Wal, he ain't so rank in his judgment as some I could indicate,"drawled Jim, prepared to defend both pup and foundling to the lastextent. "At least, he never thought he was smart, abscondin' with alittle free sample of a brain."
"What kind of a mongrel is he, anyway?" inquired Bone.
"Thorough-breed," replied old Jim. "There ain't nothing in him butdog."
The blacksmith was still somewhat longingly regarding the pale littleman who continued to cling to the miner's collar. "What's his name?"said he.
"Tintoretto," answered Jim, still on the subject of his yellowish pup.
"Tintoretto?" said the company, and they variously
attacked theappropriateness of any such a "handle."
"What fer did you ever call him that?" asked Bone.
"Wal, I thought he deserved it," Jim confessed.
"Poor little kid--that's all I've got to say," replied thecompassionate blacksmith.
"That ain't the kid's name," corrected Jim, with alacrity. "That'swhat I call the pup."
"That's worse," said Field. "For he's a dumb critter and can't saynothing back."
"But what's the little youngster's name?" inquired the smith, onceagain.
"Yes, what's the little shaver's name?" echoed the teamster. "If it'sas long as the pup's, why, give us only a mile or two at first, and therest to-morrow."
"I was goin' to name him 'Aborigineezer,'" Jim admitted, somewhatsheepishly. "But he ain't no Piute Injun, so I can't."
"Hard-hearted ole sea-serpent!" ejaculated Field. "No wonder he lookslike cryin'."
"Oh, he ain't goin' to cry," said the blacksmith, roughly patting thefrightened little pilgrim's cheek with his great, smutty hand. "What'she got to cry about, now he's here in Borealis?"
"Well, leave him cry, if he wants to," said the fat little Keno. "I'ain't heard a baby cry fer six or seven years."
"Go off in a corner and cry in your pocket, and leave it come out asyou want it," suggested Bone. "Jim, you said the little feller kintalk?"
"Like a greasy dictionary," said Jim, proudly.
"Well, start him off on somethin' stirrin'."
"You can't start a little youngster off a-talkin' when you want to, anymore than you can start a turtle runnin' to a fire," drawled Jim,sagely.
"Then, kin he walk?" insisted the bar-keep.
Jim said, "What do you s'pose he's wearin' pants for, if he couldn't?"
"Put him down and leave us see him, then."
"This ain't no place for a child to be walkin' 'round loose," objectedthe gray old miner. "He'll walk some other time."
"Aw, put him down," coaxed the smith. "We'd like to see a littlefeller walk. There's never bin no such a sight in Borealis."
"Yes, put him down!" chorused the crowd.
"We'll give him plenty of elbow-room," added Webber. "Git back there,boys, and give him a show."
As the group could be satisfied with nothing less, and Jim was aware oftheir softer feelings, he disengaged the tiny hand that was closed onhis collar and placed his tiny charge upon his feet in the road.
How very small, indeed, he looked in his quaint little trousers and hisold fur cap!
Instantly he threw the one little arm not engaged with the furry dollabout the big, dusty knee of his known protector, and buried his facein the folds of the rough, blue overalls.
"Aw, poor little tike!" said one of the men. "Take him back up, Jim.Anyway, you 'ain't yet told us his name, and how kin any little shaverwalk which ain't got a name?"
Jim took the mere little toy of a man again in his arms and held himclose against his heart.
"He 'ain't really got any name," he confessed. "If only I had thepoetic vocabulary I'd give him a high-class out-and-outer."
"What's the matter with a good old home-made name like Si or Hank orZeke?" inquired Field, who had once been known as Hank himself.
"They ain't good enough," objected Jim. "If only I can git aninspiration I'll fit him out like a barn with a bran'-new coat ofpaint."
"Well, s'pose--" started Keno, but what he intended to say was neverconcluded.
"What's the fight?" interrupted a voice, and the men shuffled aside togive room to a well-dressed, dapper-looking man. It was Parky, thegambler. He was tall, and easy of carriage, and cultivated a curvingblack mustache. In his scarf he wore a diamond as large as a marble.At his heels a shivering little black-and-tan dog, with legs no largerthan pencils and with a skull of secondary importance to its eyes,followed him mincingly into the circle and stood beside his feet withits tail curved in under its body.
"What have you got? Huh! Nothing but a kid!" said the gambler, insupreme contempt.
"And a pup!" said Keno, aggressively.
The gambler ignored the presence of the child, especially as Tintorettobounded clumsily forward and bowled his own shaking effigy of a canineendways in one glad burst of friendship.
The black-and-tan let out a feeble yelp. With his boot the gamblerthrew Tintoretto six feet away, where he landed on his feet and turnedabout growling and barking in puppywise questioning of this suddenmanoeuvre. With a few more staccato yelps, the shivering black-and-tanretreated behind the gambler's legs.
"Of all the ugly brutes I ever seen," said Parky, "that's the worstyellow flea-trap of the whole caboose."
"Wal, I don't know," drawled Jim, as he patted his timid little pilgrimon the back in a way of comfort. "All dogs look alike to a flea, and Ireckon Tintoretto is as good flea-feed as the next. And, anyhow, Iwouldn't have a dog the fleas had deserted. When the fleas desert adog, it's the same as when the rats desert a ship. About that time adog has lost his doghood, and then he ain't no better than a man who'slost his manhood."
"Aw, I'd thump you and the cur together if you didn't have that kid ondeck," sneered the gambler.
"You couldn't thump a drum," answered Jim, easily. "Come back here,Tintoretto. Don't you touch that skinny little critter with theshakes. I wouldn't let you eat no such a sugar-coated insect."
The crowd was enjoying the set-to of words immensely. They now lookedto Parky for something hot. But the man of card-skill had little witof words.
"Don't git too funny, old boy," he cautioned. "I'd just as soon haveyou for breakfast as not."
"I wish the fleas could say as much for you or your imitation dog,"retorted Jim. "There's just three things in Borealis that go aroundsmellin' thick of perfume, and you and that little two-ounce package ofdog-degeneration are maybe some worse than the other."
Parky made a belligerent motion, but Webber, the blacksmith, caught hisarm in a powerful grip.
"Not to-day," he said. "The boys don't want no gun-play here thismornin'."
"You're a lot of old women and babies," said Parky, and pushing throughthe group he walked away, a certain graceful insolence in his bearing.
"Speakin' of catfish," said Field, "we ought to git up some kind of acelebration to welcome Jim's little skeezucks to the camp."
"That's the ticket," agreed Bone. "What's the matter with repeatin'the programme we had for the Fourth of July?"
"No, we want somethin' new," objected the smith. "It ought to besomethin' we never had before."
"Why not wait till Christmas and git good and ready?" said Jim.
The argument was that Christmas was something more than four weeks away.
"We've got to have a rousin' big Christmas fer little Skeezucks,anyhow," suggested Bone. "What sort of a celebration is there that we'ain't never had in Borealis?"
"Church," said Keno, promptly.
This caused a silence for a moment.
"Guess that's so, but--who wants church?" inquired the teamster.
"We might git up somethin' worse," said a voice in the crowd.
"How?" demanded another.
"It wouldn't be so far off the mark for a little kid like him,"tentatively asserted Field, the father of the camp, "S'pose we give ita shot?"
"Anything suits me," agreed the carpenter. "Church might be kind ofdecent, after all. Jim, what you got to say 'bout the subject?"
Jim was still patting the timid little foundling on the back with acomforting hand.
"Who'd be preacher?" said he.
They were stumped for a moment.
"Why--you," said Keno. "Didn't you find little Skeezucks?"
"Kerrect," said Bone. "Jim kin talk like a steam fire-engine squirtin'languages."
"If only I had the application," said Jim, modestly, "I might git upsomethin' passable. Where could we have it?"
This was a stumper again. No building in the camp had ever beenconsecrated to the uses of religious worship.
Bone came to the r
escue without delay.
"You kin have my saloon, and not a cent of cost," said he.
"Bully fer Bone!" said several of the men.
"Y-e-s, but would it be just the tip-toppest, tippe-bob-royal of aplace?" inquired Field, a little cautiously.
"What's the matter with it?" said Bone. "When it's church it's church,and I guess it would know the way to behave! If there's anythingbetter, trot it out."
"You can come to the shop if it suits any better," said the blacksmith."It 'ain't got no floor of gold, and there ain't nothing like wings,exceptin' wheels, but the fire kin be kept all day to warm her up, andthere's plenty of room fer all which wants to come."
"If I'm goin' to do the preachin',' I'd like the shop first rate," saidJim. "What day is to-day?"
"Friday," replied the teamster.
"All right. Then we'll say on Sunday we celebrate with church inWebber's blacksmith shop," agreed old Jim, secretly delighted beyondexpression. "We won't git gay with anything too high-falootin', butwe'd ought to git Shorty Hobb to show up with his fiddle."
"Certain!" assented the barkeep. "You kin leave that part of the gameto me."
"If we've got it all settled, I reckon I'll go back up to the shack,"said Jim. "The little feller 'ain't had a chance yet to play with hisdoll."
"Is that a doll?" inquired the teamster, regarding the grave littlepilgrim's bundle of fur in curiosity. "How does he know it's a doll?"
"He knows a good sight more than lots of older people," answered Jim."And if only I've got the gumption I'll make him a whole slough of toysand things."
"Well, leave us say good-bye to him 'fore you go," said the blacksmith."Does he savvy shakin' hands?"
He gave a little grip to the tiny hand that held the doll, and all theothers did the same. Little Skeezucks looked at them gravely, hisquaint baby face playing havoc with their rough hearts.
"Softest little fingers I ever felt," said Webber. "I'd give twentydollars if he'd laugh at me once."
"Awful nice little shaver," said another.
"I once had a mighty touchin' story happen to me, myself," said Keno,solemnly.
"What was it?" inquired a sympathetic miner.
"Couldn't bear to tell it--not this mornin'," said Keno. "Tootouchin'."
"Good-bye fer just at present, little Skeezucks," said Field, and,suddenly divesting himself of his brazen watch and chain, he offered itup as a gift, with spontaneous generosity. "Want it, Skeezucks?" saidhe. "Don't you want to hear it go?"
The little man would relax neither his clutch on Jim's collar nor hishold of his doll, wherefore he had no hand with which to accept thepresent.
"Do you think he runs a pawn-shop, Field?" said the teamster. "Put itback."
The men all guffawed in their raucous way.
"Keeps mighty good time, all the same," said Field, and he re-swung thechain, like a hammock, from the parted wings of his vest, and droppedthe huskily ticking guardian of the minutes back to its place in hispocket.
"Watches that don't keep perfect time," drawled Jim, "are scarcer thanwimmin who tell their age on the square."
"Better come over, Jim, and have a drink," suggested the barkeep."You're sure one of the movin' spirits of Borealis."
"No, I don't think I'll start the little feller off with the drinkin'example," replied the miller. "You'll often notice that the men whogit the name of bein' movin' spirits is them that move a good deal ofwhiskey into their interior department. I reckon we'll mosey home theway we are."
"I guess I'll join you up above," said the fat little Keno, pullingstoutly at his sleeves. "You'll need me, anyway, to cut some brush ferthe fire."
With tiny Skeezucks gravely looking backward at the group of men allwaving their hats in a rough farewell, old Jim started proudly up thetrail that led to the Babylonian Glory claim, with Tintoretto rompingawkwardly at his heels.
Suddenly, Webber, the blacksmith, left the groups and ran quickly afterthem up the slope.
"Say, Jim," he said. "I thought, perhaps, if you reckoned littleSkeezucks ought to bunk down here in town--why--I wouldn't mind if youfetched him over to the house. There's plenty of room."
"Wal, not to-day I won't," said Jim. "But thank you, Webber, all thesame."
"All right, but if you change your mind it won't be no trouble at all,"and, not a little disappointed, the smith waved once more to the littlepilgrim on the miner's arm and went back down the hill.
Then up spoke Keno.
"Bone and Lufkins both wanted me to tell you, Jim, if you happen towant a change fer little Skeezucks, you can fetch him down to them," hesaid. "But of course we ain't agoin' to let 'em have our little kid inno great shakes of a hurry."